


Bothersome

by anotherbird



Series: The Path [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, First Kiss, Hair Washing, Intimacy, M/M, Massage, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22159459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherbird/pseuds/anotherbird
Summary: Geralt should've been bothered by how easily Jaskier touched him. Without a second thought. Without even the slightest hint of hesitation.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Path [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749103
Comments: 79
Kudos: 1344





	Bothersome

**Author's Note:**

> I know others have written about similar tropes, but I couldn't help myself.  
> It takes place somewhere after episode 3, so spoilers for this. Geralt is probably a mix of book, game and show Geralt.
> 
> There's an instance of wound cleaning in this fic, but it's not graphic. 
> 
> Update: Thanks to [Scrambled Still](https://twitter.com/ScrambledStill) (who makes amazing art, go check it out!) this fic is now beta'd!
> 
> Have fun!

He should be bothered, Geralt thought. By the bard's presence. His constant chattering. By the way he got him into trouble (or got himself in trouble, which usually got them both into trouble).

Bothered by the way he just lingered around. Ignored all of his boundaries at once, simply by being there. He should've been bothered that he sang or played his lute when they set up camp outside, alerting every monster and animal and human with hearing abilities around them to their presence. 

He should've been bothered by the constant questions and the curiosity. By the way Jaskier's head rested against his shoulder blades, when he fell asleep against his will on Roach, because both of them had been too tired to walk a single step anymore. How the bard's smell stuck to his clothes for a while afterwards, only noticeable for him. 

He should've left the bard at the first possible tavern on the way in the arms of a willing wench he had claimed to have fallen in love with. Just use the night and leave without goodbye. Be on his way. Alone like he was used to, until winter came and he would return to Kaer Morhen. 

But he didn't. Despite all of this, he kept him around. Allowed himself to be humored by the bawdy jokes and the mischief. Got used to having another being around him, who seemed to enjoy his company. He had grown so used to being alone on his travels most of the time, only spending one night or the other at a local brothel and only occasionally finding someone who knew that laying with a witcher had its own kind of advantages. 

He had to admit that his income had also increased - if he got paid. Which was largely dependent on Jaskier's behavior regarding the local population. 

But that wasn't the reason. 

He had been lonely, began to long for the winter, for the reunion with the other witchers, his brothers, before he found his companion - or rather before his companion found him and decided to stick to his heels like tar. 

"I still can't believe they tried to destroy my lute." The bard's eyes were glistening with outrage, two shining orbs looking at Geralt in expectation, waiting for his reply. 

"I still can't believe I didn't get paid because of you." Geralt started to take off his armor. "Again." 

"Maybe you shouldn't have thrown the Griffin head you were carrying at the innkeeper."

Geralt glared at him from the other side of the room. It was cozy enough, a place owned by an old rich woman, apparently a great admirer of Jaskier's poetry, who let him stay for free for as long as he stayed in Oxenfurt. Two servant girls carried in some buckets of hot water to fill a wooden tub with. They hurried out quickly again.

"I wouldn't have had to, if you had kept your hands away from his daughter."

"How was I supposed to know that you would show up with her, griffin in hand?" 

When Geralt had rescued the young woman just outside of Oxenfurt and she had told him her father was an innkeeper, he had looked forward to a free room for the night, a good warm meal, maybe some coins even. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in more than a week. He hadn't expected to be greeted by Jaskier's voice singing well-known verses or the brawl that broke out not much later, when the girl spotted the bard and turned as white as a sheet. 

"You are.." Geralt gave out a deep sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose. "A menace." 

"Don't act like you weren't happy to see me." 

Geralt only grunted as an answer, took the satchel he had left on the floor and went over to Jaskier, who had been pacing back and forth in front of the bed. A hand on his shoulder stopped him from moving.

"Let me have a look." It wasn't a question. Jaskier blinked at him in confusion. 

"Excuse me?"

"The cut." Geralt pointed at his forehead. During the chaos in the tavern, someone had managed to jump at Jaskier, a broken off bottle in hand. Geralt had knocked the man out moments later and Jaskier had been quick enough in evading the self-made weapon to not be severely hurt, but still gotten himself an ugly cut beneath his hairline. 

Jaskier finally nodded, so Geralt could have a look.

It was a thing easily forgotten, how fragile humans were. How easily their skin broke, how little pain they could take. And Jaskier seemed to be one who could take it even less than others. The bard obviously tried to hold still, eyes screwed shut tightly, lips pressed into a thin line, nose crunched, as Geralt probed the skin with his fingers.

"You could stand to be just a little bit gentler, you know? Some of us are just human." As Jaskier's cornflower blue eyes opened, they met his. 

Geralt ignored the bard's jab and went for his satchel. He quickly found what he was looking for. A bottle of temerian wodka. 

"Sit. I'm gonna clean this up." He didn't wait for a reaction, just took the bard by the shoulders and pushed him down so he was sitting on the edge of the bed next to the "thankfully" not broken lute. 

"That is not the way I like to be pushed around in the bedroom." Jaskier muttered.

Geralt ignored him, just cleaned his hands with the alcohol first, before wetting a clean piece of cloth with it. 

"Will this leave a scar?"

"No, it's not that bad."

"You said 'it's not that bad', when the bruxa last fall almost took your arm off, so I don't really know if I can trust your judgement, Geralt."

He rolled his eyes, took Jaskier's chin in his hand and almost gently forced him to look up. He could hear the bard's pulse quicken, how for the tiniest moment his breath hitched.

"Jaskier." The bard blinked a few times, but before he could answer anything coherent, Geralt beat him to it. "Shut up and let me work." 

He didn't even know why he did it. Why he didn't just let the bard handle this himself, tend to his own wounds. If he were capable of feeling, he would've called it sentiment. He didn't let go of Jaskier's jaw, held it in his grip, careful not to use too much force, just to keep his head in place. Jaskier's heartbeat was a fast fluttering under his skin. 

"Shouldn't you care for yourself first?" Geralt glanced at the ugly slash on his thigh, where the griffin's beak had got him. Would've taken his leg clean off, if he had been an ordinary man. Like Jaskier. 

He had been too slow though. Tired. He hadn't had a good night's rest for several weeks, his slumber drenched in dark dreams. "It's nothing. " The bleeding had already stopped. It would leave a scar, one among many. Another reminder. Another story. 

He started cleaning the bard's wound, carefully rubbing away the dried blood, ignored Jaskier's hiss when the alcohol met the wound. The cut wasn't deep. Fortune favored fools after all. 

"You can't keep getting in situations like this. It's just going to get you killed." 

"Better than death by boredom?" Words muttered under his breath, probably lost to someone with just human hearing abilities. 

"Better being bored to death than being sliced open by a bottle." 

"You know, you could at least pretend to not hear me. Just out of politeness. " 

"Why?"

The wound was clean now, had lost its look of severity with the lack of dried blood and dirt. It would heal up nicely.

"I'm done. I'm going to go out and find a place to stay now" Geralt patted the bard's cheek to signal that he finished his task and put the cloth and wodka away.

"And why would you do that? We've just met again. Why not simply stay here?"

"I'm not much company right now." 

"What you need is a bath and some rest. Get in before the water is cold."

Geralt contemplated leaving for a moment, but he couldn't remember the last time he got to bathe in warm and clean water.

And if he was being honest, he didn't want to leave again.

  
  


The water was still warm. He laid back, ignored he faint sting from his leg and the way the water turned slightly red. He closed his eyes and gave out a sigh. The crackling of the fire. Faint voices and music from outside, where the townsfolk celebrated the end of the day. Jaskier's breathing, then footsteps on the wooden floor, rummaging around in a bag of some sort, footsteps again, this time coming closer. He opened his eyes again. 

"What are you doing?" He could hear Jaskier behind him, a screeching, when a stool was dragged over the floor just behind his back. 

"I know just what you need, Geralt." 

"Some peace and quiet."

A brown bottle of wine appeared in his field of vision. He sat up straight. 

"Erveluce? How?" He should've been bothered by someone being behind is back. But he wasn't. 

"It was thrown at me in a moment of... anger. There are pros and cons of meeting your beloved in a wine cellar. " Geralt took the bottle from Jaskier and pulled the cork out with his teeth without much effort. The heavy, dark scent of the wine filled his nostrils. 

"You know I actually carry a bottle opener with me." The bard muttered behind him in obvious amusement. Despite himself, Geralt chuckled. He didn't know where it came from. It just bubbled out of him, before he could stop himself. 

"Of course you do." He finally said, shook his head and took a long gulp straight from the bottle. 

"You really are a philistine, Geralt." Jaskier commented and wound the bottle from his grip. Geralt could hear him swallow only moments later. "But that's what I'm here for. " The bottle was placed on the wooden floor next to the tub, where Geralt could easily reach for it. "Now get your hair wet, please."

"Why?"

"Just trust me, will you?"

He should've been bothered. By Jaskier's hands on his shoulders pushing him gently, urging him a little. By the sheer confidence Jaskier uttered his words with. By how easy he gave in and got his head under water, drowning out most of the noises and smells for a few moments. He was greeted by the scent of lavender, when he got back up. 

"What is that?" He asked without turning around und took the Erveluce for another large gulp. He could taste Jaskier's lips on it. Geralt remembered that he liked to eat honeycombs before singing if his throat was a little sore. 

"Soap. I don't know if you two are acquainted, but I thought I could introduce you to one another."

"Jaskier, what-" There were hands in his hair now, untying the dirty old piece of cloth he used to bind his hair back with. Fingers combing through strands of entangled hair. He should've been bothered by that. Someone touching his head without being asked to. Taking for granted that he wouldn't chop off those hands. The boldness. A hand appeared next to him with a bar of soap, plunged into water to get wet and disappeared again. Fingers reappeared on his head, applying the soap to his hair. He should've been bothered. But he leaned into the touch like a spoilt cat, eyes falling shut, arms resting on the edge of the bathtub. Skilled fingers massaged his scalp. Pressed gentle circles into his skin, starting on his forehead and temples, working themselves across his head. He heard Jaskier breathe behind him, the slightly too quick rhythm of his heartbeat. Smelled lavender and wine and soap and smoke from the fire. Thumbs pressing against his forehead, just above his brows, the top of his head. The base of his skull, just above his spine. Jaskier started to hum. A simple well known melody, calming, Geralt couldn't quite place it. It was merely a rumble in his chest, a barely audible vibration of his vocal cords, only broken by an amused chuckle as Geralt was visibly relaxing. When Jaskier was finished, he gently pushed him forward, so he could rinse out the soap from his hair with a bucket of fresh water, carefully so Geralt wouldn't get any soap into his eyes. As if Geralt hadn't gotten much worse into into his eyes. Afterwards he made him lean back against the edge of the tub again.

Fingers pressed into the sore, cramped muscles of his neck and shoulders, almost too gently, as if there were an actual chance Geralt could be hurt by these careful touches. With every single touch he felt himself relax more, loosen up more. Let go of the tension of his muscles, hardened from the nights on the road, cramped and bruised. Neck and shoulders then neck again, down his back until the edge of the tub was in the way, dancing to the slow comforting melody Jaskier was humming, light enough that other people wouldn't be able to listen in, which made it feel even more private. More intimate. The hands worked down his arms, one after another, sometimes feather light, sometimes with pressure, pressing onto points of pain, letting go, repeating, until the faint pain vanished and the flesh was warm and soft underneath, like it hadn't been for ages. Gently rubbing away at and caressing the scars. 

Geralt hadn't really noticed drifting off to sleep, only when he woke up to Jaskier's voice close to his ear, his breath close enough to be felt, fingers on his clavicle, where the former Striga then human princess had almost succeeded where so many others had failed before. 

He should have been bothered by the ease with which the bard touched him. The boldness. His lack of fear. It was reckless for a witcher to leave an opponent out of sight. But here he was.

"That's new." His voice was low, a whisper, like Geralt were an animal easily spooked.

Geralt only grunted as an answer, leaned his head back without thinking so it was resting against Jaskier's shoulder. He could see the bard's profile at the border of his field of vision now, heard his heartbeat pick up a little, a slightly nervous chuckle, but no flinching even though he was most likely drenching the bard's doublet with his still wet hair. Jaskier rested his head against his, his chin at Geralt's temple. Geralt could smell the Erveluce on his breath, the beer dried on his clothes, sweat and honey and the remnants of blood and the biting stench of the alcohol he cleaned the wound with. The perfumed oil he was using. It was comforting. His fingers were drawing slow circles on his skin where the scar was. It wouldn't fade anytime soon despite the sorceress' efforts. 

"I'm sensing a good tale there. What was it? "

"Striga."

"You killed a Striga? Didn't know those were real."

"Didn't kill her." Geralt's eyes fell shut again. The water had started to cool, but Jaskier was a constant source of warmth. "Lifted the curse. In Wyzima. "

"I thought that was a vukodlak. "

"It was a princess." 

"That's the stuff for ballads. And I wasn't there to witness your heroic deeds. Did they at least offer you the princess' hand and knighthood in return? I heard that's the common payment for rescuing a king's offspring."

"No." He thought about the princess, basically a child, covered in filth and blood, eyes blown wide with fear and confusion. Maybe lifting the curse hadn't been the right thing to do, but merely the lesser evil. Now she would be but a pawn in the games of power, married away to form an alliance for her father, when she still had to learn to behave human. 

"Here you are, meeting kings and princesses, just when I'm not around."

"You probably would've been killed." 

"Lucky for me then that I am friends with a witcher who had the courtesy to show up in a moment of dire need."Jaskier's fingers had stopped caressing his scar now, his hands rested on his chest instead and maybe Geralt should've been bothered by the embrace and the comfort. He didn't know how long they remained that way. It must've been quite uncomfortable for Jaskier. He was close to falling asleep again, when Jaskier suddenly started moving.

"Water's getting cold." What bothered him was the sudden nervousness, a husky clearing of the throat, how Jaskier seemed suddenly eager to get away as if a spell had been broken. He stumbled onto his feet a little too fast. Geralt was quicker despite his tiredness, he got to his feet and out of the tub catching his wrist, before he could get away. 

"Jaskier." The pulse beneath his fingers was quick. The wrist felt fragile in comparison to his hand. Jaskier's wide eyes were glued to his face. Ears and cheeks bright red.There were a lot of words he could have said.

That he had been hoping that Jaskier was at Oxenfurt.

That now that he knew how it felt to have a companion, the road was cold and lonesome.

That he was heading for Novigrad next and hoped the bard would join him. 

But he didn't say any of those words, just stood there, still wet, hair dripping and buck naked, feet slippery on the wooden floor, while Jaskier apparently tried very hard to look nowhere but his face. Geralt opened his mouth, contemplated his words, then closed it again without anything sensible coming to mind. He was about to let go of Jaskier's wrist, when the bard rolled his eyes and took a step towards Geralt. He smiled a little awkwardly and cupped his cheek, that was rough with a week old stubble. 

"You are a menace, you know that?" Geralt wasn't able to get out more than a barely audible "Hmm", when Jaskier closed the space left between them. The kiss wasn't shy nor chaste, it was slow, but sure, inviting. He could still taste the erveluce on him and the honeycombs. Geralt let go of his wrist, wound his arms around Jaskier instead and pulled him as close as possible, not minding his still wet body. When their lips finally parted, their bodies didn't move an inch. Geralt just rested his forehead against Jaskier's, their noses touching and listened to Jaskier's racing heartbeat, to his uneven breathing. His hands rested on Jaskier's hips, while Jaskier's fingers seemed fidgety, curious, dancing over the parts of his skin that he could reach. Geralt hummed in appreciation. 

It should've bothered him. But it didn't. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!  
> If you want to talk, find me on Tumblr [the-other-bird](http://the-other-bird.tumblr.com) or Twitter [@ItsAnotherBird](https://twitter.com/ItsAnotherBird)


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